I suffered. I'd lost a very, very good thought. I woke up and in the air above my bed, or a useless, worn-out mattress - to be precise, there was just a whiff of an impressively insightful fragrance with a sophisticated note of neat expression. But the bottle of my memory was empty.
I told myself that worse disasters happen - say, high taxation to poor kids in Central Asia or Sweden; but it didn't help. The lost thought was dragging me down, and fast.
I said a short prayer that I may think it again ... and I burst out laughing. I remembered that the thought had been about the Lord himself, so I was worrying about losing a thought about omnipotent, omniscient, omni-remembering God of All Thoughts, lost or found.
(Or let's put it like this: if each of my hairs* is counted, how much more each of my thoughts. Whether they are brilliant or stupid - now, this worries me a bit in fact - they are all safe with the Lord).
*though in my case, He has made it easy for his counting hosts. But it's OK, for Him I can take it like a man.
